That night the ghost came to her again.
She stood at the foot of Rhiannon‟s bed, a white-faced woman dressed all in darkness. “Ye sought to keep me away,” she said in a low, intense voice, “but ye canna, can ye? I have penetrated all your defenses.”
Rhiannon, caught between sleep and wakefulness, sought desperately under her pillow for the rowan charm but could not find it.
“He has betrayed ye, your love, hasn‟t he? What is there left for ye in life now? Nothing.
Nothing.”
Rhiannon turned her head back and forth on the pillow, her eyes smarting. Her limbs felt weighted down with chains.
“Why do ye suffer this incarceration? Ye might as well be buried alive. Why do ye no‟ claw your way out? I would. I would never let a man use me so.” The ghost‟s voice dropped even lower, growing sweet and persuasive. “If ye escape, if ye find your way free, I can help ye find power.
If ye help me live again, if ye bring me a sweet young body to sacrifice, I will repay ye, I swear.
I will make ye rich beyond your wildest dreams, I will give ye the power o‟ life and death over your enemies. I will teach ye all I ken o‟ the craft and cunning these witches guard so jealously.
Ye want to conjure fire? I can teach ye.”
Suddenly the room was illuminated so brightly Rhiannon cried out and flung her arm over her eyes. Imprinted upon her retina was the shape of a grinning skull with gaping eye hollows, stuck upon a curving stick of bone. Even when she blinked, the sizzling impression did not fade.
The low whisper went on as slowly the light in the room faded away. “Aye, I am dead. I am naught but bones and dust in some grave over the seas. I was no‟ even buried in my own land, the land o‟ my clan. I want to live again! We could help each other, we two. We are o‟ a kind.”
Rhiannon forced her wooden tongue to shape the word
no
.
“If ye will no‟ help me, then ye are my enemy, and believe me, ye do no‟ wish to be that. Come.
I ken ye could escape from here if ye tried. It is no‟ in your nature to be so meek and feeble. Kill these stupid guards o‟ yours and get yourself free. I ken ye are afraid o‟ what would happen then, but if ye help me, then ye need no‟ fear pursuit or retribution. I would make sure ye grow so strong, so powerful, that none dare touch ye.”
“How?” Rhiannon whispered.
“First ye must help me back to life. Without life, without blood, I am still naught but bones and spirit. Once I am alive again . . .”
“Ye dead,” Rhiannon said brutally. “Ye canna live again. Accept it.”
“Never!” the ghost cried. A wind sprang up from nowhere, blasting Rhiannon‟s face with icy-cold air. Turning her face away, lifting her arm to protect herself, Rhiannon saw the wind whipping the ghost‟s long black hair about her face and sending the darkness eddying about her like mist.
“Close on twenty years now I have clung to my powers, when the void o‟ death has sought to suck them away. I canna hold on much longer. I must have life again! And if ye will no‟ help me, I shall take your life, and so I warn ye. Defy me and ye shall die. Help me, and I shall help ye.”
“Help me to what?”
“Whatever ye want,” the ghost said impatiently. “Life, freedom, power, revenge . . .”
“Revenge?” Rhiannon wondered aloud.
“Aye, on all those who have betrayed ye and imprisoned ye. We will have our revenge together.
All ye need do is escape, and I will show ye the way forward.”
“Escape,” Rhiannon repeated and pressed the tears back into her eyes with icy fingers.
The next morning Fèlice came, laden down with fruit and flowers and wine. Rhiannon knew at once that she had heard the news. She looked pale and distressed.
“Oh, Rhiannon, I‟m so sorry. I canna believe . . . I never would‟ve thought . . .”
“I will throttle her till she dead.” Rhiannon paced the floor, her hands balled into fists. “I will chop her up for dog food. How dare she? He mine! Lewen mine! I‟ll hang her up for the rats to chew on, I will, I will!”
“Oh, Rhiannon, I am so very sorry. I really thought . . . It seems so unlike Lewen!”
“She has ensorcelled him,” Rhiannon spat. “I‟ll flay her alive, the bitch!”
“Oh, surely no‟? She canna have. It‟s no‟ allowed. The Coven says . . . That‟s compulsion, a spell like that. It‟s taking away free will. The Banprionnsa could never do such a thing.”
“She could and she has,” Rhiannon said with conviction. “Just wait until I get out o‟ here! I‟ll kill the skinny witch and rip her to bits. We‟ll see whose quarters are thrown to the city dogs!”
“Oh, Rhiannon, ye canna speak so! She‟s the daughter o‟ the Rìgh! They can hang, draw, and quarter ye just for speaking so. Ye must be still! Do no‟ be so angry.”
“Do no‟ be so angry! What ye want me to do, cry? Weep like a baby? I won‟t, I won‟t!”
Rhiannon cried, even as the tears poured down her cheeks. She dashed them away and went on, almost incoherently. “I willna cry, I willna, no! I willna let her have him. He mine! He mine!”
Then the tears overwhelmed her and she flung herself down on the bed and sobbed wildly. Fèlice kneeled beside her and tried to comfort her, but it was no use. Rhiannon wept and pounded her pillow and tore at it with her teeth until the feathers flew. All Fèlice could do was try to shield her from the curious eye that appeared at the peephole in the door.
At last Rhiannon‟s sobs shuddered away. She sat up, thrusting Fèlice‟s hand away, and turned her hot, swollen face towards her with a grimace. “If ye ever tell anyone that I cried . . .”
“I ken, I ken, ye‟ll grind my bones for bread,” Fèlice said, trying to joke. She got up and moved away to the table, pouring Rhiannon some water from the jug there and dampening the facecloth so she could press it to her tear-ravaged eyes. “I am so sorry, Rhiannon,” she said again, speaking very gently. “I thought . . . I hoped ye would no‟ care so much. I never would‟ve thought Lewen could be such a bastard. Ye‟re better off without him.”
To her dismay, Rhiannon was crying again, swift silent tears that poured down her face. She licked them from her upper lip and covered her eyes with her hand.
“Nay, he mine,” she muttered. “We promised. Me no‟ give him up.”
Fèlice did not know what to say. She thought of the Lewen she had seen that morning, his arm about Olwynne‟s waist, their fingers entwined, their eyes fixed upon each other‟s faces. It was as if they could not bear to have even an inch of air between them. Then there was Donncan and Bronwen, due to be married in six weeks, standing as stiff and cold and polite as if they were strangers while all about them swirled rumour and speculation, visible as smoke. Between the two couples, the gossipmongers were having a field day.
“Ye will no‟ have heard the other big news,” Fèlice said, seeking to distract Rhiannon. “There was a death last night, at the palace. His Highness, Prionnsa Donncan, accidentally killed one o‟
the Blue Guards. We were no‟ there, o‟ course— we were at the Theurgia‟s party—but we heard all about it this morning. They say the soldier that was killed was a great admirer o‟ Her Highness, Banprionnsa Bronwen, and was quite mad with jealousy. Ye ken His Highness only returned from his travels yesterday? He‟s been away months apparently, and the Banprionnsa has been amusing herself in his absence with a dalliance or two. Prionnsa Owein says she is even more o‟ a flirt than I.”
Fèlice giggled, then recollected herself, recounting the rest of the tale with greater sobriety.
Rhiannon barely listened, so preoccupied was she with her own problems, until she caught the word “Yeoman” and it dawned on her that the Crown Prionnsa Donncan had apparently done exactly what she had done—killed one of the Rìgh‟s own guards.
“So why is he no‟ in prison too?” Rhiannon demanded.
Fèlice looked surprised. “Why . . . because it was self-defense, I suppose. Mathias attacked
him
.”
“The Yeoman I killed attacked my mother,” Rhiannon reminded her. “He would‟ve killed her too. So why am I in prison for months and months, and this prionnsa o‟ yours walks free?”
Fèlice fidgeted with her sash. “I dinna ken,” she admitted. “I mean, ye couldna put His Highness in jail!”
“Why no‟? He killed a man too, a Blue Guard, just like me.”
“Aye, but it was an accident.”
“How do ye ken?”
“He said so, and Her Highness the Banprionnsa Bronwen too.”
“How do ye ken they do no‟ lie?”
“He‟s the Crown Prionnsa. He wouldna lie,” Fèlice argued, looking harassed. “We all ken him!
He wouldna murder one o‟ his father‟s own guards.”
“No‟ even if the guard was trying to steal his lover away?” Rhiannon demanded. “Ye told me the guard who attacked the Prionnsa was mad with jealousy. How do ye ken the Prionnsa was no‟
the one driven mad? If he thought the Blue Guard was mating with his woman, he would want to kill him, wouldn‟t he? Anyone would. I ken I would.”
Fèlice looked troubled. For a moment there was silence, and then she said, “There is to be an inquiry. The Privy Council has set up a special group to investigate.”
“I‟ll bet ye two gold royals that the Prionnsa does no‟ have to wait in prison while they do it,”
Rhiannon said bitterly.
“No,” Fèlice said. “I don‟t want to lose my money.”
The eyes of the two girls met.
“I have some good news that might cheer ye up,” Fèlice said with an effort. “Ye ken Landon‟s ballad, the one he wrote about ye? It‟s all the rage in the faery quarter. We‟ve been selling bundles o‟ it. Ye have a lot o‟ supporters among the faeries now.”
“Wonderful,” Rhiannon said. “I bet no‟ one o‟ them is a magistrate sitting on the quarter sessions.”
“Well, no,” Fèlice answered. “But at least we‟re making your case a cause célèbre. . . .”
“A what?”
“A much-talked-about event,” Fèlice answered, stroking back the damp hair from Rhiannon‟s face. “If we can just get public opinion going your way, I‟m sure it‟ll make a difference. It must!” Her eyes suddenly became thoughtful. “I wonder . . . surely it canna do any harm to just point out the difference in the way ye and His Highness are being treated? I wonder if they‟d let us print up another broadsheet on the Theurgia‟s printing press?”
Rhiannon was feeling unutterably weary. She shrugged and put her head back down on her pillow. The bluebird flew back in through the bars of the window and came to alight on her knee.
It tilted its head and regarded Fèlice with its bright black eyes, trilling sweetly.
Fèlice stared at it in amazement. “What a lovely little bird! Have ye tamed it?”
“Lewen made it for me,” Rhiannon said.
“He
made
it for ye?”
“Aye. From wood. He whittled it, then touched it and it came to life.”
Fèlice regarded Rhiannon with wide brown eyes. “But . . . that‟s extraordinary.”
“I ken.”
Fèlice was silent for a long moment; then she stood up, shaking out her skirts. “Now I truly do believe he has been ensorcelled! Lewen could not bring a bird to life for ye one day, and turn around and kiss and canoodle with another lassie the next.”
Rhiannon lifted the bird on to her hand so she could sit up and face Fèlice. “Told ye so.”
“Aye. But the thing is, what to do about it?”
“I can do naught in here,” Rhiannon said, fire kindling in her eyes again. “But when I get out—”
“Aye, I ken, I ken. Ye‟ll carve her up for mincemeat and end straight back in here.”
“Nay, I‟ll win Lewen back again,” Rhiannon said fiercely. “He mine!”
“Well, it‟s still another month until your trial,” Fèlice said, frowning, “and then it‟ll be bang on time for the wedding. I think I should talk to Lewen, try to talk sense into him.”
“One whole moon still! Me want out now!”
“Well, ye canna,” Fèlice said practically. “As far as I ken, there‟s only ever been one breakout from Sorrowgate Tower, and that was led by Tòmas o‟ the Healing Hand.”
“How did he get out?” Rhiannon demanded.
“A nyx led him out through the sewers,” Fèlice answered. “But unless ye happen to ken a nyx . .
.”
Rhiannon scowled.
Fèlice bent and gave her a quick kiss, startling her. “I am so sorry, Rhiannon. I wish . . .”
“What?”
“I wish there was more I could do to help,” Fèlice answered.
“Ye could get me out o‟ here.”
Fèlice shook her head. “I‟m sorry,” she said helplessly. “But truly I canna.”
Fèlice tried to talk to Lewen, but she could never find him alone. Day or night, he and Olwynne were together, brown head bent over red, brown eyes hooked into brown. Many times Fèlice tried to draw him apart for private conversation, but the Banprionnsa was always quick to return to his side or to call for his attention. Brought up from birth in the etiquette of a royal court, Fèlice could not interrupt or intrude upon a banprionnsa. She could only curtsy and withdraw obediently, despite her growing frustration and suspicion.
Then, almost a week after May Day, Fèlice was in the library studying at one of the little tables when she saw Lewen come in, arms linked with Owein and Olwynne. They were laughing. This made Fèlice feel quite cross, when she remembered Rhiannon‟s heart-wrenching grief and despair. She leaned over and whispered to Edithe, who was frowning over a massive tome at the table next to hers, “Look, Edithe! It‟s Lewen and the royal twins. Would it be presumptuous o‟
us to go and greet them?”
Edithe at once closed her book and stood up, smoothing down her hair and shaking out her skirt.
“No‟ at all,” she whispered back. “Why, after so many weeks in Lewen‟s company? O‟ course no‟. I‟m sure he shall be delighted to see us again.” Then she picked up her book and, head bent in apparent concentration upon the page, stepped forward, right into the threesome‟s path.
“Oh, my gracious, I am so sorry,” she cried, starting backwards. “Your Highnesses, please forgive me. I was so engrossed in my studies I did no‟ see ye. Lewen! Well met! How are ye yourself?”
Lewen and the twins were forced to stop and return her greeting, and soon, as Fèlice had expected, Edithe had cornered Owein and Olwynne, requesting their advice on which teacher of alchemy was considered the best. Owein, of course, had no interest in this subject and rolled an agonized eye at Fèlice, silently begging her to rescue him. Olwynne, however, replied gravely and in full, and Fèlice was able to seize Lewen‟s sleeve and draw him aside.